Zombie Bums from Uranus

by Andy Griffiths

  Eleanor just laughed. ‘That’s rich, coming from you! If you really have changed, prove it by doing the decent thing and letting us all go!’

  ‘But how do I know you’ll help me?’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord.

  ‘You’re just going to have to trust us,’ said Eleanor. ‘We want to see an end to the zombie bums as much as you do—and maybe your maggot army is the answer—but it’s not going to happen if you try to force us. Or trick us. Or deceive us. You’ve tried that before and look where it’s got you. You betrayed our trust, and now you have to earn it back.’

  The Mutant Maggot Lord was silent.

  Zack bit his lip as he stared at the abject figure on the floor in front of him. The Kisser’s betrayal of the B-team had cost him dearly. His looks. His body. His lips. And now he was condemned to live under-ground—a ghost of his former self—with only maggots for company. Mutant maggots. Even though it was all his own fault, it was hard not to feel a little bit sorry for him.

  Zack looked at the others.

  He could see he was not the only one who felt this way. Gran was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. The Flicker blew his nose on one of his towels. The Forker, sniffling, reached across to the Flicker’s towel and blew his nose on it. Even Zack’s bum was blinking back tears.

  Eleanor, however, was clearly unmoved.

  She stood there, tapping her foot as she waited for the Mutant Maggot Lord’s response.

  ‘You’re right, Eleanor,’ the Mutant Maggot Lord finally said in a soft voice. ‘You’re absolutely right. Deceit has got me nowhere.’ He turned to the Prince and Maurice. ‘Let the prisoners go,’ he said.

  ‘But, Master . . .’ said the Prince.

  ‘Do as I say,’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord, firmly.

  ‘Yes, Master,’ said the Prince, unwrapping the toilet paper from Zack’s arms and legs, while Maurice removed the leash and the wad of paper from Zack’s bum.

  ‘About time, too,’ said Zack’s bum, getting up and joining Zack and the rest of the group.

  ‘So, do I have your word that you will help me?’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord.

  Eleanor stared at him. ‘Yes,’ she said, at last. ‘You have my word.’

  Eleanor’s response shocked Zack. It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. But he was glad she had said it. He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.

  The Forker smiled.

  The Flicker smiled.

  Gran smiled.

  Eleanor glared at them.

  The Mutant Maggot Lord nodded and the maggots that had closed in around them parted, leaving the way clear for them to climb the ladder back to the surface. ‘Thank you!’ he said. ‘I won’t let you down! Bring the zombie bums to me as soon as you can and you’ll see. You won’t regret your decision, I promise.’

  After a long climb Zack emerged from the drain, which was located at the edge of a large park.

  Zack’s throat was still sore from the smoke and the stench of methane that permeated the air was making it very difficult to breathe. He looked up at the sky. It was a brilliant blue. There must be an enormous amount of methane in the atmosphere he thought.

  Zack shielded his eyes with his hand. He was no genius, but you didn’t have to be Einstein to understand the second law of physics, known to bums and bum-fighters and schoolchildren throughout the univarse:

  Bums + Food = Methane

  Only in this case, Zack realised it was an equation of an even greater magnitude:

  Lots of Bums + Lots of Food = Lots of Methane

  Just exactly how much methane the zombie bums had produced, Zack had no way of knowing. But they hadn’t been here for very long and if the awful stinking haze around them was any indication, it would eventually be more than enough to kill every man, woman and child on Earth. Not to mention every other living organism as well.

  ‘Looks like we don’t have much time,’ said Zack, as Eleanor pulled herself up out of the drain. ‘Just one question: how do we get them to come back to the Maggotorium with us?’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ said Eleanor, helping Gran out. ‘We’re not actually going to help that dirty double-crossing mutant. I only said that to get us out of there!’

  ‘But it could work!’ said Gran. ‘And a promise is a promise.’

  ‘Not to the Kisser, it’s not,’ said Eleanor. ‘He was going to kill us!’

  ‘We have no evidence of that,’ said the Forker, squeezing himself out of the narrow hole with difficulty, ‘and he did let us go.’

  ‘He shouldn’t have trapped us in the first place!’ said Eleanor.

  ‘But his maggot army may be able to help get rid of the zombie bums!’ said the Flicker, jumping out after the others. ‘There’s no other way. Even if we could burn them all we’d choke to death on their fumes!’

  ‘Listen, everybody!’ said Eleanor. ‘Think, think, THINK! The zombie bums are ZOMBIES. Even if I thought it was a good idea to deal with the Kisser—which I don’t—but even if I did, we haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of getting the zombie bums to do what we want them to do!’

  ‘Language!’ said Gran.

  ‘Hell isn’t “language”,’ said Eleanor. ‘It’s a place—and it will be right here on Earth if we don’t act fast. Fast and smart.’

  ‘So what’s your plan?’ asked the Flicker.

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘I don’t know yet,’ she said.

  Gran cleared her throat. ‘I’ve got a plan,’ she said.

  ‘What is it?’ said Zack.

  ‘Well,’ said Gran, ‘why don’t we all go back to the bum-mobile, put the kettle on and have a nice cup of tea?’

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ said Eleanor. ‘We have a code-brown situation here and you’re suggesting that we sit down and drink tea? You must have methane madness!’

  ‘Mind your manners, now,’ said Gran. ‘A code brown situation is no excuse for rudeness.’

  ‘Well, I for one could sure use a cuppa,’ said the Forker.

  ‘Me too,’ said the Flicker.

  ‘Me three,’ said Zack. ‘My throat is killing me.’

  Eleanor shrugged theatrically. ‘Oh, I just remembered,’ she said. ‘I don’t have a teapot on the bum-mobile. Or teacups. Or any tea for that matter. And I’m clean out of milk and sugar.’

  ‘That’s quite all right, soldier,’ said Gran, lifting up her cardigan to reveal a bum-fighter’s belt equipped with a teapot, teacups and three small cannisters: the first marked ‘tea’, the second ‘milk’ and the third ‘sugar’. ‘When you’ve fought bums for as many years as I have, you learn to pack all the essentials.’

  Twenty minutes later they were all sitting in the bum-mobile sipping English breakfast tea. Even Zack’s bum was sipping, although—it must be said—not very elegantly.

  ‘Stop slurping!’ said Zack.

  ‘I can’t help it,’ said his bum. ‘It’s too hot.’

  ‘Then blow on it,’ said Zack, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  There was pandemonium in the bum-mobile as the bum-fighters fumbled for their clothespegs.

  ‘This is all very pleasant,’ said Eleanor, after the bum-fighters had all finished coughing and gagging and resumed drinking their cups of tea. ‘But I hardly see how it’s helping us fight zombie bums.’

  ‘Well I’ll be a bum’s uncle!’ said the Forker who was holding a teacup in one hand and scanning the horizon with a pair of bumoculars in the other. ‘Would you look at that!’

  ‘What?’ said Zack.

  ‘Zombie bums,’ said the Forker, handing him the bumoculars. ‘Bigger than I’ve ever seen them! And one of them’s trying to dance!’

  Zack looked through the bumoculars at a shopping centre carpark about half a kilometre away from the bum-mobile. There was a group of the hugest, most enormous zombie bums Zack had ever seen. They were standing in a circle. But as extraordinary as the sight was, what was even more extraordinary was that there was a zombie bum in the middle of the circle, moving its arms and
legs in a repetitive, almost rhythmic way.

  ‘It does look like it’s dancing,’ said Zack, handing the bumoculars to the Flicker.

  The Flicker nodded and then shook his head. Then he nodded again.

  ‘Let me see,’ said Gran, taking the bumoculars from Flicker.

  ‘That’s impossible!’ said Eleanor. ‘Have you all got methane madness?’

  ‘Here, see for yourself,’ said Gran, handing her the bumoculars. ‘It’s dancing all right.’

  Eleanor looked and then handed the bumoculars back to the Forker.

  ‘Well?’ said Zack.

  ‘I think I must have methane madness, too,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘It’s dancing, all right,’ said the Forker, watching the bum, ‘but not as we know it. I could be wrong, but I think that zombie bum is talking to the others.’

  ‘Talking?’ said Eleanor. ‘But they’re zombies. They can’t talk.’

  The Forker drew his breath in. ‘I used to keep bees,’ he said, ‘and they do a similar sort of thing. That’s how they communicate. They use simple repetitive gestures to tell each other where to find food.’

  ‘But the zombie bums don’t eat food,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘No,’ said the Forker. ‘Not directly. They need a victim to attach themselves to. And judging by the size of those bums, they’ve outgrown their original hosts and are looking for some bigger ones. You know, this could be the break we’ve been looking for.’

  ‘Are you saying we should go out there and dance for them?’ asked Gran.

  ‘Not exactly,’ said the Forker. ‘They’d probably try to attach to us. We need a bum.’

  Zack’s bum went pale and almost choked on its tea. ‘Why are you all looking at me?’ it said.

  ‘Relax,’ said the Forker. ‘All you’d have to do is to tell them where they can find lots of new victims.’

  ‘The maggots?’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Yes,’ said the Forker.

  ‘No way!’ said Eleanor, raising her voice. ‘We’re not dealing with the Kisser. I thought I made that clear!’

  ‘I understand your reluctance, Eleanor,’ said the Forker, ‘and believe me, if I thought we had any other option, I would try it. But we don’t.’

  ‘Well, don’t worry about it because I’m not doing it and that’s final,’ said Zack’s bum. ‘Tell him, Zack.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Zack to the Forker. ‘It’s too dangerous. There’s got to be another way.’

  ‘It’s the ONLY way!’ said the Forker. ‘We know the zombie bums are impervious to forking, flicking and pinching. There’s too many to melt and the smoke is too dangerous. But we might be able to get them to move if we can convince them that there’s plenty of fresh hosts waiting for them in the Maggotorium. And the only way we can convince them of that is to send your bum out there and let them know about it.’

  ‘But I can’t dance!’ said Zack’s bum, jumping up into Zack’s arms for protection.

  ‘Anyone can learn to dance,’ said the Forker. ‘It’s just a matter of practice. And besides, this is a very simple dance. You can move your arm up and down—like so—I presume?’ The Forker moved his arm up and down.

  ‘Yes,’ said Zack’s bum, ‘of course, but . . .’

  ‘You can turn around, can’t you?’ said the Forker, turning around. ‘Like this?’

  Zack’s bum nodded. ‘Yes, I can do all that, but . . .’

  ‘Then you can do the dance!’ said the Forker.

  ‘You’re forgetting one important thing, though,’ said Zack’s bum. ‘I don’t look like a zombie bum anymore than you do! I’m pink and they’re blue! I’m alive and they’re dead!’

  ‘We can fix that with a little bumouflage,’ said the Forker.

  ‘No!’ said Zack’s bum. ‘I won’t do it. And that’s final!’

  ‘You’ll be a hero,’ said the Flicker.

  ‘You’ll save the world!’ said Gran.

  ‘You could even be the first bum to be nominated for the Bum Hunters’ Hall of Fame,’ said the Forker.

  ‘On the other hand,’ said Zack’s bum, ‘I might get zombie-bummified!’

  ‘Not if you do exactly as I tell you,’ said the Forker.

  Zack’s bum sighed heavily.

  The bum-fighters reached for their clothespegs.

  Zack could see the sense in the Forker’s suggestion. He spoke quietly to his bum. ‘If you do this,’ he said, ‘I’ll give you your very own fluffy pink toilet seat cover.’

  ‘And extra soft toilet tissue?’ said his bum.

  ‘Extra extra soft toilet tissue,’ said Zack.

  ‘And no smacks ever again?’

  Zack hesitated, then agreed. ‘No smacks.’

  ‘Ever?’ said his bum.

  ‘Ever,’ promised Zack.

  ‘And your fingers aren’t crossed?’ said his bum.

  Zack held up his hand and wiggled his fingers.

  ‘Okay,’ said his bum.

  Zack looked at the others. ‘He’ll do it,’ he said.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Eleanor. ‘How do we know that we can trust it to give the zombie bums the right information? Your bum might not be a zombie bum, but it is a bum. And not so long ago it was trying to take over the world. How do we know that it’s not going to go out there and just tell them exactly where we are?’

  Zack’s bum looked hurt. ‘I guess you’ll just have to trust me,’ it said.

  ‘I’ll never trust a bum as long as I live!’ said Eleanor.

  ‘You’re just saying that because you’re jealous,’ said Zack. ‘Just because you cut your own bum loose!’

  ‘Bum sympathiser!’ said Eleanor, taking a swing at Zack.

  ‘Language and manners!’ said Gran, sharply. ‘I don’t like bums any more than you do, soldier, but let’s not forget who the real enemy is here. And let’s also not forget that you’re a young lady.’

  Eleanor glared at them all. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘So let me get this straight. Our plan pretty much consists of relying on a bum-sympathising traitor who very recently tried to kill an entire team of bum-fighters, a load of mutated maggots who very recently were blocking our escape from the Maggotorium, and a megalomaniac bum who very recently tried to create a bumcano that would kill every human being on Earth. Am I correct?’

  ‘No,’ said Zack’s bum. ‘I didn’t know the bumcano was going to kill everyone . . . that was the Great White Bum’s idea . . . It told us that it would just put you out of action for a little while.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right,’ said Eleanor. ‘My mistake. You just wanted to put a bum on the head of every human being on the planet and put their heads where their bums should be.’

  ‘I said I was sorry,’ said Zack’s bum. ‘So did the Kisser.’

  ‘Oh, silly me!’ said Eleanor, striking her head with the palm of her hand. ‘I forgot. You said “sorry”! Well that makes it all right then, doesn’t it? Gee! What a good plan! Sounds absolutely foolproof. Wish I’d thought of it myself!’

  ‘Mind your sarcasm!’ said Gran. ‘It may not be the greatest plan in the world but it’s better than nothing. Another cup of tea, anyone?’

  Exactly one hour later, Eleanor flew the bum-mobile towards the centre of Mabeltown. Normally she would have done all she could to conceal their arrival, but this time she flew low and revved the engines loudly to make sure they were well noticed.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Zack as he looked out of the window at the scene below them.

  ‘What is it?’ said Zack’s bum, jumping up onto his lap.

  ‘Look,’ said Zack.

  The normally quiet shopping strip was filled with zombies. Zombies staggering around with enormous bums. Huge bums. They were at least three times as big as the bums that had originally landed. Zack was amazed that the zombies could walk at all, and in fact, as he looked closer, he discovered that many of them had simply collapsed face-first under their own weight. Others were sitting up against shop windows holding their stomachs as if they’d eaten too
much Christmas dinner. Those that could still stagger appeared to be intent on eating non-stop. They were filling their faces with food—or whatever they could get their hands on. A crowd of zombies were fighting over the contents of a rubbish bin. Others—clearly even more desperate—were on their knees licking the road.

  ‘This is terrible,’ said the Forker, standing behind Zack.

  ‘There’s nothing left,’ said the Flicker.

  ‘But they can’t stop eating,’ said Gran. ‘Not while the bums are attached.’

  When Eleanor was sure that every scrounging zombie and zombie bum in the vicinity was aware that they were there, she landed. There was a soft bump as the bum-mobile came to rest. Zack was nervously applying his bum’s bumoflauge with blue eyeshadow and mascara.

  ‘Watch out for my eye!’ said his bum. ‘That stuff stings!’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Zack. ‘But you keep moving!’

  ‘I’m only doing what the Forker is telling me to do!’ said Zack’s bum.

  ‘Okay, let’s go over it one more time,’ said the Forker.

  ‘I KNOW it already!’ said Zack’s bum.

  ‘Humour me,’ said the Forker.

  Zack’s bum sighed and repeated what the Forker had taught him. ‘I let them know there’s a huge supply of maggot-hosts, so I wriggle like a maggot.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be too hard,’ said Eleanor under her breath.

  ‘What did you say?’ said Zack’s bum.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Ignore her,’ said the Forker. ‘Do the maggot!’

  Zack’s bum self-consciously put its arms in the air and wriggled and swayed like a belly dancer.

  Zack tried to stifle a nervous laugh.

  ‘Shut up!’ said his bum. ‘I’d like to see you do better.’

  Zack shook his head. ‘I couldn’t,’ he said. He wasn’t lying, either. Not only had he failed his Junior Bum-fighters’ League entrance exam three times, he’d also embarrassed himself at school dance classes. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to dance, it’s that he just had no idea how to dance. He knew that the girls in the class dreaded being his partner. He would step too fast, or too slow, or simply step on their toes. He’d drop them when he was supposed to catch them. When it came to dancing he was a one-man walking disaster area. Except for the hokey pokey. He was very good at the hokey pokey. But then, that wasn’t saying much. A two-year-old could dance the hokey pokey.